


When It's Just Me and You

by WrittenByMe_C



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But when it's fluffy, Communication, Crying, Fluff, Grantaire quotes classic literature, It's a bit up and down, Kissing, Lack of Communication, M/M, Relationship Reveal, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Sharing a Bed, That's my Thing now I guess, Train journey, it's fluffy, its not as pretentious as it sounds, seriously, so much crying, soft, there's a whole Shakespeare sonnet in here, trigger warnings in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenByMe_C/pseuds/WrittenByMe_C
Summary: He was actually fine with it. More than fine with it. It’s not like he and Enjolras hadn’t shared a bed before – and in fact, the bed back in his apartment might even be smaller than the ones on the train – but this was different. This was in front of their friends. And Grantaire just didn’t know what to do with that.~~~Grantaire and Enjolras have been sort-of-dating for four months without their friends knowing. Now they have to share a bed in a train compartment with five of their friends, the other six in the room next door. The night is interesting, to say the least.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 106





	When It's Just Me and You

**Author's Note:**

> I need to stop writing secret relationship fics (no I don't, send me prompts). I also need to write the next chapter of my HP fic... should probably get on that.
> 
> Trigger Warnings:  
> \- feelings of panic and anxiety  
> \- alcohol use/abuse  
> \- (in reference) mugging  
> \- (in reference) hospitalisation
> 
> Title comes from 'Lovin' Is Bible' by The Aces

“How much longer are we stuck in here for?” Eponine asked as she returned to the compartment. Every member of Les Amis was crowded into one of the two six-bed couchettes that the group had booked for their journey to Italy. Grantaire was still unsure as to why they were going on a holiday in the middle of November, but it at least meant he wasn’t cooped up in his apartment doing nothing but procrastinating his next commission piece. Just cooped up in a too-small-for-thirteen-people train compartment procrastinating his next commission piece.

“No idea my dearest ‘Ponine, but we will need sleep at some point. So, time to decide.” Courfeyrac said and with a flourish pulled out a wine bottle from his backpack, nearly hitting Bossuet in the nose. The compartment really was too small for everyone to fit.

“Is that not going to be too heavy to spin properly?” Chetta asked from her place on the very top bunk on the left-hand side of the compartment. She was sprawled out on her stomach, her head propped up by someone’s duffle bag and her right arm was swinging down into Joly’s face on the bunk below. The young medic had curled up in the corner of the middle bunk allowing Bahorel to somehow squeeze in beside him with Jehan draped across them both.

“And how will you find the space to spin it?” Marius asked from the bunk opposite, wrapped around Cosette awkwardly in the small space. Grantaire understood why the couples wanted their own beds now, there wasn’t much room at all. Thirteen people and twelve beds, and of course Courfeyrac decided that a game of spin the bottle would help them figure out who was sharing.

“I can solve both those problems.” Grantaire said, swiping the bottle out of Courfeyrac’s hand and downing half of it before anyone could protest. He caught Enjolras’ eye as he did so, watched the blond stare at his neck as he guzzled the red liquid. Courf took the bottle back with a surprisingly harsh tug, causing a drop of wine to jump out and dribble onto Grantaire’s chin and down his neck. Enjolras’ eyes followed it, his face flushing slightly. Grantaire smirked at him and silently wished not for the first time that their friends knew about them already, just so he could act on the thoughts crossing his mind.

“And the other problem, ‘Taire?” Eponine asked, sitting down on the floor in front of the compartment door. Grantaire turned his smirk to her and then, without looking, swept his arm across the small table and dumped the papers that Enjolras had been working on onto the floor.

The quiet of the compartment suddenly seemed oppressive as their friends all held their breath and waited for Enjolras to react. Grantaire’s smirk stretched into a grin and next to him Combeferre muttered something under his breath about a death wish. But Enjolras just sighed and crouched in the small space between the beds to pick up the papers.

“Uh, are you doing okay blondie?” Eponine asked after exchanging a glance with Ferre. Enjolras looked up at her questioningly but continued to organise his papers. “You’re not arguing. Very unlike you.”

Enjolras sat back on the lower bunk, elbows on his knees so that he could sit comfortably.

“Small space, long journey. If Grantaire wants to act like a child,” he side-eyed Grantaire and held back an eye-roll as the dark-haired man’s grin got wider, “then he can. But I’d just rather not.”

Everyone hummed in surprise – Eponine was right, it was unlike Enjolras to not argue with Grantaire and vice versa, but truth be told they were both kind of sick of it. They’d always have fights, little disagreements here and there, that’s just who they were. But recently they had realised just how much they had been fighting because when they stopped for a week everyone thought they were ill.

“So, spin the bottle?” Feuilly asked, sticking his head out over the edge of the bunk above Grantaire.

“Yes! Okay, so, Marius and Cosette can’t share because apparently Cosette starfishes and we’d either get a Marius-pancake on the wall or splattered on the floor. Either way, not ideal.” Courfeyrac’s expressive face showed exaggerated remorse at the idea of an injured Marius and everyone laughed lightly at his theatrics. “Chetta’s too tall to share, Joly’s too anxious to share, Bossuet is too dangerous to share-” Bossuet went to defend himself but realised rather quickly that, yeah, Courf had a point. “So that leaves one empty bed in the couples-slash-throuples room and of course, this is the bed we will be playing for tonight!”

Jehan and Joly cheered quietly as Courf attempted to throw his arms out dramatically in the small space.

“I have placed the rest of our names into a wonderful app on my phone which will decide who the first lucky winner of the bed will be. After that’s done, they will spin the bottle and whoever it lands on is the _extra-lucky_ person who will be sharing the bed with them. Does that make sense?”

Everyone apart from Enjolras nodded.

“What if the bottle points out the window?” The blond asked.

“Spin again.”

“And if it lands on someone who isn’t playing?

“Spin again.”

“Between two people?”

This time everyone replied: “Spin again.”

“What if it points at Grantaire? It could also be pointing a Feuilly because he’s in the same place, just above. Spinning again wouldn’t work in that case.”

That gave them pause.

“Okay people who are playing need to be down here.” Combeferre said, motioning to the lower bunks and floor. “Bossuet, swap with Feuilly and mind your-”

Bossuet let out a small cry as he hit his head on the bunk above. While Joly attempted to fret and check his boyfriend over from the odd angle he was sat at, Feuilly and Eponine started moving. But there wasn’t much space in the compartment while everyone was sat still – once people started to move it felt ten times more crowded. Grantaire needed some air.

He didn’t know how but he managed to squeeze past everyone to get out into the corridor of the train. He rested his head against the window and took a few deep breaths. The wine was starting to take effect and he felt his cheeks flush and his stomach swirl. Although, the swirling had been there for a while.

Ever since he and Enjolras started… dating? He didn’t know what they were doing exactly; they hadn’t given it an official word yet. All he knew was that he was desperately head-over-heels in love with Apollo and for some reason that very God let him worship his body and worshipped Grantaire’s in return. They’d spoken about it, once, when Enjolras admitted it wasn’t just a physical relationship to him anymore but that was the extent of the conversation. He didn’t _really_ know how Enjolras felt, he didn’t dare bring it up for fear of rejection, but there were little things here and there that gave him hope.

Such as the hand on the small of his back.

“Someone will notice we’re out here.” He muttered, closing his eyes, and turning his head away from the blond.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked in response. Grantaire shrugged. “I said I was getting some water from the food carriage; do you want a walk?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” Grantaire stood up straighter, took his head away from the window. His forehead had left a sweaty mark and when he tried to rub it off with the sleeve of his jumper it just smudged and became more noticeable. He looked at Enjolras who was staring at him with concerned blue eyes. “Go. I’m fine.”

Enjolras clearly wasn’t convinced but instead of arguing – he’d been serious about wanting things civil on the journey – he just lifted his hand to delicately touch Grantaire’s cheek before turning on his heel and walking off to the food carriage.

Grantaire sighed and leaned back against the window. If they just told their friends, then this whole who-will-share-the-bed thing could be avoided entirely, and they could all just relax in their own compartments and not have to worry about-

The hand was back. How long had he been out here?

“I’m sure they’re settled now.” Enjolras said quietly.

Grantaire pulled away from the window again and followed Enjolras back into the compartment. Chetta and Joly were in the same places as before, as were Marius and Cosette. Eponine had moved next to Joly and at Grantaire’s questioning stare she said, “You really think I’m gonna be sharing a bed?” with a snort. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were opposite each other by the window, the small table between them, on which the wine bottle had been placed. Feuilly and Bahorel had managed to squeeze in beside Combeferre, squirming every now and then where their shoulders, hips, and knees were digging into each other. Grantaire wondered why one of them hadn’t moved to the bunk above, below Marius and Cosette, but a quick glance told him that Bossuet had spread out not unlike his girlfriend had on the opposite top bunk. Jehan was patting the space between himself and Courfeyrac and Enjolras sat down curtly, leaving the space in front of the door where Eponine had sat earlier empty for Grantaire to occupy.

He rather ungraciously dumped himself on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He propped his chin up on his folded arms and purposefully avoided everyone’s stares to the point that he didn’t even know if there were stares to avoid.

“Okay, everyone is here and settled and I am wondering why we weren’t all sat like this in the first place because-” Courfeyrac’s little rant was cut off by Enjolras and Combeferre clearing their throats at the same time. They shared an exasperated smile and Courf rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay! Oh, mighty phone, decide!”

He dramatically pressed a finger to the screen of his phone, and everyone waited for the obnoxious sound effect to pass. However, as soon as the sound effect did stop the noise was instantly replaced by Courfeyrac’s poorly concealed laughter.

“Is it really?” Jehan asked, a gleeful smile taking over his face as he leaned over Enjolras to look at Courfeyrac. The curly-haired boy just laughed some more and nodded, showing his phone to the poet.

“What’s happening?” Enjolras asked, the angle he was at making it so that he couldn’t see the screen. Everybody else seemed rather confused as well.

“Me and Courf were saying on the way here how amusing it would be to have to see you, Enj, try and share such a small space with someone and, well…” Jehan took the phone from Courfeyrac’s hand and showed it to Enjolras.

The blond’s eyes widened and then, almost imperceivably so, flicked to Grantaire’s. If the artist hadn’t already been looking directly at him, he’d have missed it, and judging by the lack of reaction from everyone else, no one else had noticed. Instead, they too had all broken out into varying degrees of laughter.

“Well then Enjy, looks like you’re spinning.” Courfeyrac said once everyone had calmed down. The swirling in Grantaire’s stomach was back.

Enjolras, forever able to keep calm in any situation, looked unbothered as he leaned over slightly and span the bottle. Because of Grantaire’s expert guzzling earlier, the bottle moved quickly, spinning like a figure skater looking for a top score. They all watched with bated breath, weirdly excited about the result.

As the bottle slowed to a stop, everyone held their breath for an entirely different reason.

Grantaire almost started laughing at the irony of the wine bottle pointing at him. It felt mocking – like the alcohol had decided to finally get its own back after all the years he’d abused the substance. The swirling became a tornado.

“Um, you can spin again, if you want.” Courfeyrac said quietly, suddenly not so happy as he had been before. It was no secret to the Amis that Enjolras and Grantaire didn’t have the most stable friendship and surely sharing a bed, especially such a small one, would be a recipe for disaster. _Little did they know_ , Grantaire thought bitterly.

“No.” Enjolras said, surprising everyone including Grantaire who had assumed they’d keep up the act of pretending to dislike each other. A spark of hope lit in his chest. Enjolras shrugged at the looks he was given. “It wouldn’t be very democratic to deny the results of a fair game.”

Of course, Grantaire thought, it wasn’t about him, it was about democracy. The spark died just as quickly as it was born. He scoffed slightly, rolled his eyes, and leaned his head back against the door.

“‘Taire?” Eponine said, “Are you okay with it?”

He sighed as the tornado raged on. “Yeah, whatever.”

He was actually fine with it. More than fine with it. It’s not like he and Enjolras hadn’t shared a bed before – and in fact, the bed back in his apartment might even be smaller than the ones on the train – but this was different. This was in front of their friends. And Grantaire just didn’t know what to do with that. Enjolras said so himself, though not in as many words; he agreed because of democracy, not because he was comfortable with it.

“What do we do now then?” Jehan asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the awkward territory it had landed in. “It’s too early to all go to sleep.”

“How about an actual game of spin the bottle?” Eponine asked with the assumption everyone would know she was being sarcastic. She should have remembered Courfeyrac was in the room.

“Perfect!” The theatre major cried, clapping his hands together. “We’ll play a modified version; if the bottle lands on you then you have to answer a truth and if you don’t _then_ you have to kiss the person who spun.”

“And us?” Cosette asked from up top, gesturing between those in a relationship.

“If you want you can play the truth side and just skip the kissing, it’ll still be fun.” Combeferre shrugged. They all shrugged and agreed to join in, designating one of the people on the lower bunks to spin for them. Whenever the bottle landed on someone who had a person above them, they would battle it out in an intense game of rock-paper-scissors with the loser being the one to answer the truth.

By the ninth spin of the bottle, the world outside the window was dark and Courfeyrac had managed to kiss three people despite only having spun it himself once and only one person – Eponine – refusing to answer. Grantaire was relaxed. The bottle hadn’t landed on him since the bed decision and it wasn’t his turn to spin it for another three rounds; he was quite content watching his friends spill silly secrets and scandalous truths. When Eponine had refused to tell Marius what her favourite Christmas movie was, Courfeyrac had leaped up and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek with a grin. Eponine had pushed him off in mock-disgust but Grantaire caught the small smile she tried to hide in her hand. No one mentioned that they didn’t follow the awkward protocol enforced by Bahorel and Jehan of standing up in the middle of the compartment to kiss. Eponine would probably castrate someone if they tried that.

“Enj’s turn!” Courfeyrac said far too loudly for the small compartment. Grantaire’s smile wanted to both fall and widen. He was happy, and when he looked at Enjolras he was happier, but that didn’t stop the fact that in a few minutes his secret-maybe-boyfriend may be kissing someone else. The thought made his heart ache. He wasn’t a possessive person, barely even a jealous one, but he couldn’t help but think that as soon as Enjolras had a taste of someone else – anyone else – the blond would realise just how awful Grantaire was.

“I don’t even have a question ready.” Enjolras said but he leaned over and spun the bottle anyway. It spun just as quickly as before, the noise of the glass travelling across the plastic table echoing in the small space. And just like before, Grantaire almost started laughing as the neck of the bottle pointed unquestionably toward the door of the compartment. Towards himself.

“Well,” Musichetta said quietly, trying to break the tension, “what are the odds of that?”

“It’s-” Joly started to say but was cut off by Eponine’s elbow digging into his side.

Grantaire finally let out a short bark of laughter, “Why does everyone get so dramatic so quickly in this group? Ask a question, Apollo.”

He was expecting something simple, something ordinary. What’s your favourite colour, what’s your favourite art medium, what’s are your opinions on child labour laws? Y’know, the usual. Anything that would keep the game moving, not risk having to enforce the second half of the rules. That’s not what he got.

“What?” His breath hitched slightly, and his heart started pounding in his ears. He felt his hands go warm and tingle with anxiety and he clenched his fists to stop the shaking.

“What happened after the animal rights march? Where did you go?” Enjolras repeated. Grantaire couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes. He knew – he _knew_ that Grantaire didn’t want to talk about this. Not at three am when he was drunk and alone with only the blond to hold him as he screamed himself to sleep, and certainly not in a cramped train compartment with all of his friends and twelve more hours of a journey to kill.

He looked away and shook his head, “I’m not answering that.”

“Why not? It’s been four months and you still won’t tell us.” Enjolras said, genuine concern seeping into his voice slightly. No one else would have noticed it though, except maybe Ferre, they didn’t know the blond well enough – or at least, not in the same way.

Grantaire stood up, ready to leave. He could settle down on one of the cots in the other compartment and if Enjolras hadn’t managed to go through his bag the night before then there should be a bottle of scotch in there to help him get to sleep.

“I said I wasn’t answering.” He reached behind himself and was about to open the door and step back into the train’s corridor when Enjolras stood up as well, giving Grantaire pause. _What was he playing at?_

Combeferre coughed from his spot by the window, “Uh, you do realise that means…”

Grantaire’s eyes snapped to Enjolras’ but the blond didn’t seem phased. _Seriously_ , _what is he doing?_

“Just answer the question, Grantaire.” Enjolras said, sounding exasperated.

“Why do you even want to know? I already-” Grantaire cut himself off sharply, noticing how the corner of Enjolras’ mouth was twitching ever so slightly. _That bastard_.

Grantaire furrowed his brow, pretended to glare at Enjolras as the blond struggled to hold his smirk back. The angle he was stood at meant that nobody but Bahorel could see his face, but the boxer was politely pretending like the floor was the most interesting thing he’d seen in his whole life. Everyone else was staring at Grantaire, waiting to see what he would do. He hoped he surprised them.

He felt like a weight lifted off of his shoulders as he grabbed either side of Enjolras’ face and crashed their lips together. It wasn’t a long kiss, it wasn’t a romantic kiss, it was barely even a kiss at all. But it happened, and it happened in front of their friends. Their friends who gasped and tensed, waiting for Enjolras to pull away and shout something probably about consent. But the blond didn’t have time to.

Enjolras’ hands hovered at Grantaire’s waist and he was just about to relax and pull him in closer when the artist pulled away and finally stepped backwards out of the compartment.

***

The other compartment was just as small, but the distinct lack of other people made Grantaire feel like he was in an open field after being locked up in a windowless room for years.

He fell into the bottom bunk on the right-hand side. The walls of the compartments were thin, and he could faintly hear the continuation of the game. He wished he could have stayed in there with them – played more games, had more fun – but he was also mildly proud of his exit. If Courfeyrac knew the full extent of the situation he’d probably be screaming praise at him right now; throwing fake roses, weeping real tears, and claiming that all his training was for nothing for no one would ever reach the same level of drama that Grantaire had. He rolled his eyes fondly at the thought.

Under the bed was his bag, and in his bag was an unopened bottle of scotch – Enjolras hadn’t managed to nab it - and soon enough that bottle of scotch was in his hand. He stared at the bottom of the bunk above and thanked his friends for having enough money between them to get the couchettes that were actually cleaned properly. He didn’t really want to be staring at someone’s chewed gum or wiped snot as he wallowed in self-pity. His brain was garbage enough, he didn’t need his environment to match.

He’d like to say that a reasonable amount of time had passed by the time he was halfway through the bottle but really it had been about forty minutes. He took another swig then let his arm holding the bottle drop down off the bed, the neck loose between his fingers. He threw his other arm over his face, burying his nose in the crook of his elbow and squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could.

“Here.” He hadn’t realised the door had opened and someone had entered until Enjolras was throwing a bottle of water at his chest and sitting on the bed opposite.

“Bedtime already?” Grantaire asked snidely. But nonetheless, he put the bottle of scotch on the ground – immediately picked up by Enjolras and moved as far away as possible – and propped himself up on his elbows to drink the water. He downed it in one, the cool liquid coating his sore throat and making breathing a bit easier.

“Grantaire-”

“Won’t they get suspicious? You coming to check up on me isn’t very on-brand for us, is it?”

“They- they think I’ve gone to the toilet.” Enjolras said, hanging his head.

“Ah, of course.” They sat in silence for a few seconds before Grantaire finally cracked. “What were you playing at Enj?”

Enjolras shook his head, still looking at his shoes. “I don’t know. I just- I just wanted to kiss you-”

“I don’t mean the kiss.” Grantaire cut him off. “That was part of the game, they wouldn’t have questioned it. I mean the question.”

Enjolras still wouldn’t look at him, “I needed one I knew you wouldn’t answer.”

“But you know-” He cut himself off that time. He didn’t want to argue, and he didn’t want to cry, and if he kept speaking then both of those things were sure to happen. He took a deep breath, then looked at the wall and wondered if the others could hear them talking.

“That’s just it though.” Enjolras said quietly, finally lifting his head to look at Grantaire. His eyes were so full of emotion that the artist had a hard time deciphering which one was more dominant, a strong contrast to the usual stoic blue. “I _don’t_ know. You won’t _tell_ me. And I know it’s hard for you and I don’t want to pressure you but ‘Taire I just want to help. I just want to be there for you, but I- I can’t-”

And _holy shit_ Enjolras was crying.

“Enj.” Grantaire whispered. He swung his legs down and leant across the small space to capture Enjolras’ hands in his own. He pulled the blonde forward slightly and pressed their foreheads together. For a while, they just breathed. It felt like every breath Enjolras let out, Grantaire drew in and vice versa. It should have been disgusting, stifling, but the fruity scotch had infused Grantaire’s breath and Enjolras’ favourite snack had always been berries.

They sat like that for way longer than they probably should have given that Enjolras was only meant to be going to the toilet and any one of their friends could walk in at any moment. But neither of them cared. Every now and then Enjolras’ shoulders would shake and Grantaire would squeeze his hands gently. Eventually, Enjolras pulled back, his face now dry but his eyes rimmed with red.

“I should-” He cleared his throat, voice hoarse, “I should probably get back.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire breathed out with a shake of his head, “Come back. Say you’re turning in or something just – please.”

Enjolras nodded absentmindedly as he stood up, not letting go of Grantaire’s hands until he absolutely had to. As the compartment door shut behind him Grantaire let his hands fall with a thud into his lap. He eyed the bottle of scotch, just out of reach, and sighed. He lay back down on the bed and put his ear against the wall.

He could just make out the muffled excuse Enjolras was giving, Combeferre asking if he was going to be okay, and Joly saying he was going to go to sleep soon as well. Grantaire moved to lay on his side as Enjolras re-entered the compartment, pressing back against the wall and leaving space for Enjolras to get into the bed.

The blond made quick work of changing into more comfortable clothes to sleep in and slipped in next to Grantaire slowly. Grantaire was right – these beds were actually a little bit bigger than his one at home. Ridiculous really given that his room could easily fit a double. Enjolras appeared to be thinking the same.

“You should get a double bed.” He said into the darkness of the compartment. Grantaire hummed in response and pressed his nose against Enjolras’ shoulder, placing small kisses on his skin where the sleeve of his t-shirt had ridden up. “It would be more comfortable. In general, because your current mattress is awful, but also – for us.”

Grantaire stilled. It was when Enjolras said things like _that_ that he didn’t know what was going on, how the blond felt. It drove him insane how Enjolras couldn’t just say what he meant. He had no trouble doing so for political issues but, as soon as feelings got involved, he seemed to forget that people couldn’t read his mind.

“Us?” Grantaire whispered against his skin, letting hope bleed into his voice.

Before Enjolras could reply the two men heard the door to the other compartment open and a series of _goodnight’s_ trail out. They turned away from each other slower than they should have and settled with their backs to each other, Enjolras looking out into the compartment. Grantaire assumed Enjolras pretended to be asleep because as Joly, Musichetta, Bossuet, Marius, and Cosette all shuffled into the compartment there were a series of shushes and then silence, only the creaking of the ladder and the bunks above to signal there was anyone else there at all.

***

Grantaire must have fallen asleep eventually because the next thing he knew he was being jolted awake by something digging into his back. He was fully prepared to just ignore it and go back to sleep when a loud snore ripped through the compartment and he realised that, yeah, he was sharing a small space with Bossuet, sleep wasn’t going to come easy.

He turned around as carefully as he could without knocking Enjolras out of the bed but soon realised that his caution was not needed. Enjolras was sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands on his head, wide awake.

“Enj?” Grantaire whispered, pulling a book – the thing that must have stabbed his back – out from underneath himself. He couldn’t make the cover out in the dark but suspected that it was the novel about the French Revolution that Enjolras had been trying to get through for the last month. He leaned over and put the book on the small table, hooking his chin over Enjolras’ shoulder as he did so. “You okay?”

“Sorry.” Enjolras said back, just as quietly. Grantaire gathered from the fact that he wasn’t being pushed away that no one else had been woken up by Bossuet’s snoring. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“ _You_ didn’t, your book did.” Grantaire muttered. “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras shrugged, dislodging Grantaire. The artist lay back down on the bed and tugged at Enjolras’ t-shirt to get him to relax back too. He came willingly, curling towards Grantaire. They lay there for a few minutes just looking at each other, breathing just as they had done earlier in the night. Enjolras smiled somewhat sadly.

“I want them to know, ‘Taire.” His voice was barely a whisper, but Grantaire heard him clear as day. His breath caught in his throat.

“Really?”

“I know that…” Enjolras trailed off, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them wide and staring into Grantaire’s own as if he were trying to commit them to memory. “I know that this started as… as something more physical, primal even, but… You’re it for me, I think.”

“You think?” Grantaire smirked, _using humour to cover up fear of rejection_ his therapist's voice echoed in his mind. Enjolras simply huffed a small laugh and hit him playfully on the shoulder. Grantaire pulled Enjolras closer, smiling softly. “You’ve been it for me from the moment we met.”

“Our first conversation was an argument,” Enjolras rolled his eyes, “and three years ago.”

“What can I say, the desire of the moth for the star is strong, Apollo.” Grantaire said with a wink, carding his fingers through golden locks. A delicate smile spread across Enjolras’ face and not for the first time Grantaire lamented that nobody else ever got to see these moments because the blond looked so beautiful it felt almost unlawful to keep to himself. But the beauty dimmed quickly.

“We fought so much. We said some awful things and that whole time… I’m so _sorry_ , Grantaire.”

Grantaire shrugged, “To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter.”

Enjolras shuffled even closer, now no space between their bodies and barely room to breathe, “Will you ever stop quoting classic literature?”

“And miss the way your cheeks flush each time?” Grantaire kissed said cheeks gently. “Never.”

Enjolras’ captured Grantaire’s lips with a smile. They kissed gently for a while; lips moving in synch, following a pattern that they’d come to know well but that they would never grow tired of. They’d shifted – Enjolras now on his back with Grantaire on his side hovering over the blond. Grantaire’s hand was tangled in golden tresses and Enjolras’ knuckles hurt from where he was gripping Grantaire’s t-shirt so tightly but neither cared. Until, that is, a particularly loud and sudden snore came from above.

They pulled apart quickly – old habits die hard – and held their breath as they stared at each other, both hoping that nobody else had woken. They wanted their friends to find out, but not in the middle of the night. After what seemed like an eternity but, given neither had passed out, was probably only twenty or so seconds, they let the air escape and relaxed back down.

Grantaire moved so that he was propped up in the corner slightly. He draped his right arm around the back of Enjolras’ head, bending his wrist at an odd angle so that he could keep playing with his hair. Enjolras grabbed at his other hand and started tracing the callouses and scars scattered across it. Being an artist, a boxer, and a dancer left Grantaire with interesting hands.

“What’s this scar from?” Enjolras asked, trailing over a thin line on the inside of his thumb.

“Ice sculpting in second year.”

“And this one?” A small circular scar on his little finger.

“Fixing Gav’s bike over the summer.”

Enjolras ran his fingers over Grantaire’s knuckles, “This one?”

“The animal rights march.”

They stilled at the same time. Grantaire held his breath again.

“There weren’t any fights at the animal rights march.” Enjolras said, his voice cold and distant. Grantaire ached all over; the tornado swirled again. “Grantaire, please, what _the fuck_ happened that week you were gone?”

“Not here.” Grantaire said, nodding to the door. Enjolras threw back the blanket and stormed out of the compartment before Grantaire could even finish blinking. He sat up slowly, taking deep breaths and trying to stop his heart from beating out of his chest. The few steps from the edge of the bed to the corridor of the train felt like he was walking the gallows.

When he closed the door behind him, the first thing he noticed was how beautiful Enjolras looked silhouetted by the moonlight. The second thing was the anger and concern ripping apart Enjolras face. He looked distraught, as if his imagination had conjured up the worst then decided to double it, triple it.

“You’ll tell me the truth?” He asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Grantaire nodded and leaned against the wall between the doors to where their friends slept. Enjolras stood directly across from him, his face in half-shadow. Grantaire knew he was fully illuminated by the moonlight and he had never felt more vulnerable. Not even when-

“There were eight of them. I never stood a chance, even with my training.” He said, staring at the spot on the window where the grease-mark from his forehead still remained. “They jumped me in the eighth, after the march. You lot, as you probably remember, had decided to go back to Courf’s to watch a movie but I had to work the next day so… anyway, they took pretty much everything. Left me with just my fucking underwear and sketchpad.”

Enjolras raised a hand to his mouth. “‘Taire…”

“Some lady found me the next morning. I’m glad it happened back in August or I would have frozen to death overnight. Anyway, she took me to the hospital. I had three broken ribs and lots of artificial cuts and bruises but nothing else. No major bones had broken, no internal bleeding, and as far as they could tell no brain damage. But I was in shock, I guess – I wouldn’t speak. They kept me there as a John Doe for a week under mental health watch or something, I’m not sure. The doctor gave me the all-clear pretty quickly though. Guess I charmed her with my silence or something.”

Grantaire was crying. His hands were trembling, and his throat was tight, and he could feel tears dripping from his cheeks onto his t-shirt. Enjolras stepped forward and captured his face in his hands, wiping the tears away.

“Why didn’t you say something? We could have helped track them down, we could have-” It was the wrong thing to say, and Enjolras knew it as soon as the words had left his mouth because Grantaire was ripping his head out of his hands and stepping away.

“That’s exactly why, Enjolras.” He hissed, swiping at his face when a fresh round of tears came. “Because you always want to play the hero. I needed to get past it; if you guys knew then it would become this whole _thing_ and that’s just not what I needed.”

Enjolras shook his head, “I do not-”

“Yes, you do!” Grantaire almost shouted before lowering his voice back to a whisper, “You can’t help it, and ninety-nine percent of the time I admire it. But that other one percent? When it’s aimed at me? I can’t accept help in the same ways the rest of you can. I just _can’t_. Even ‘Ponine is better at it than me, and that’s saying an awful lot. And you _know_ this; it’s certainly caused enough arguments between us in the past.”

“Grantaire-” Enjolras was starting to sound defensive and Grantaire felt the swirling in his stomach come to an abrupt halt.

“What are we, Enjolras?”

“What?” Enjolras’ hands stopped mid-air where they were reaching out for Grantaire again.

“You say I’m it for you. What does that mean?”

Enjolras shook his head, “I don’t understand where this is-”

“Because when I say it, I mean that I love you. That I am _in love with you_ and I cannot imagine life going on without you.” Grantaire was either breathing heavily or not at all, he couldn’t quite tell. “So, if this is just a twisted way of helping me _–_ of _fixing_ me – then just know it’s going too far.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras stepped forward, finally catching Grantaire’s hands in his own again, “that never even crossed my mind. I don’t need to fix you because you’re not broken. You are everything to me. You became everything to me so quickly and it was terrifying but it’s _true_. I’m in love with you too, Grantaire. I have been for months now.”

Grantaire didn’t know what to say. It was everything he had been wanting to hear for so long, everything he had needed to hear. He pulled Enjolras in for a hug, his arms wrapping around the blond’s shoulders tightly. Enjolras responded in kind, his own arms snaking around Grantaire’s waist. They buried their faces in each other’s necks and breathed deeply, taking in the moment, feeling grateful and safe and loved.

After maybe ten minutes or so, Grantaire finally pulled back and the two men stepped away from each other ever so slightly.

“I-” Grantaire faltered, he knew this wasn’t going to come out properly, “I need to sleep by myself, for the rest of the night.”

“What?” Enjolras asked, confused.

“I can’t really explain it – it’s a thing Dr Pond told me about. Trying not to be co-dependent or something.” Grantaire shrugged.

“Your therapist told you to sleep alone?” Enjolras asked, sceptical.

“I know, it sounds stupid.”

“Yeah, it sounds ridiculous. You clearly need someone by your side right now!”

“I’m just trying to follow his professional advice, what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that is that I don’t want my boyfriend going to sleep upset and alone!”

Grantaire sucked in a breath. _Boyfriend_. Yeah, okay. He could get used to hearing that more often.

He shrugged, “It’s just something I need to do Enj.”

Enjolras shook his head, “Fine.” He stepped forward and placed a kiss on Grantaire’s cheek, a scowl on his face. “Night.”

Before Grantaire could reply, Enjolras had already closed the door of the other compartment behind him. The artist sighed; _that could have gone better_.

***

All of his friends were in the food carriage when Grantaire stumbled in a few hours later. He’d managed to get some more sleep but only just; memories of the night of the march invading his mind and anxiety about potentially having screwed things up with Enjolras keeping him just alert enough to not truly relax. The blond was sat in a booth with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, the space next to him empty. Grantaire knew that Eponine was saving him a seat, could see her waving him over whilst simultaneously stopping Bossuet from knocking a glass off the table, but he pretended he didn’t see her and slipped in next to Enjolras.

Courfeyrac smiled widely at him, “I hear you kicked Enj out of bed in the night. Did he get too cold? He’s like an iceberg half the time – when we were growing up, I was convinced he was a vampire.”

“You say that like you’re not still convinced, Courf.” Combeferre said with a laugh. Courfeyrac hissed dramatically and held up his fingers in the shape of a cross at Enjolras who just stared at them and took a sip of his coffee.

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac continued, talking through a bite of toast, “Why did Enj end up on our floor?”

Grantaire turned his head sharply and Enjolras wouldn’t meet his eyes, “You slept on the floor?!” Enjolras shrugged, drank some more coffee to avoid answering. “Enj…”

It was the first time Grantaire had used the shortened version of the blond’s name in front of their friends and Courf and Ferre clearly picked up on this as they shared a look. Enjolras finally put his drink down and looked at Grantaire.

“I didn’t want to wake anyone up by trying to fit on another bed.” He said, explaining to all three of them but not tearing his eyes away from Grantaire’s.

“You should have just told me to fuck off – it was my problem.” Grantaire shook his head and stared at his empty plate, angry at himself for being so selfish and mopey as always.

“No.” Enjolras reached out and wrapped his hand around Grantaire’s arm where it was resting on the table. Courf and Ferre stared, shared another look, then stared again. Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s arm, making Grantaire look up at him again. “It should have been _our_ problem.”

Grantaire’s insides felt too warm. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face and he ducked his head slightly, trying to hide it. Enjolras squeezed his arm again and shuffled a bit closer.

“What is going on?” Courfeyrac whispered but was quickly shushed by Combeferre who was watching Enjolras with inquisitive eyes and a faint smile.

“‘Taire,” Out of the corner of his eye, Grantaire saw Courfeyrac gawk at Enjolras’ use of the nickname, “Are we okay?”

“When aren’t we?” Grantaire asked, then an idea struck, and a smirk graced his face. He turned his body slightly so that he could face Enjolras properly, moving his arm off the table and letting it fall between them. Enjolras didn’t let go, but instead – under the cover of the table – shifted his hand down to hold Grantaire’s. The smirk didn’t leave the artists face as he spoke softly but clearly:

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove.  
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come;  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

_Ah_ , Grantaire thought, _there’s that blush again_.

“Did R just-” Feuilly started to ask, the rest of their friends having tuned into the conversation when they saw Courfeyrac’s gawking, but he was cut off by Courfeyrac’s gasp as Enjolras surged forward and pressed his lips against Grantaire’s.

Grantaire smiled into the kiss, pushed back with just as much enthusiasm. It was wonderful, epic, _liberating_ , even, to be kissing Enjolras in front of their friends and actually mean it this time. He could feel Enjolras smiling too, the kiss becoming harder to maintain as their faces split from the grins. They pulled back slowly, Grantaire pulling at Enjolras’ lip slightly with his teeth and eliciting a small whimper from the blond. Their foreheads came together just like the night before, the minty freshness of Grantaire’s breath mingling with the rich coffee of Enjolras’, in synch, as always.

“ _What the frick just happened?_ ” Courfeyrac whispered, more to himself than to any of their friends. Which was a good thing as none of the Amis could find the words to speak. Combeferre tried; cleared his throat, held up a hand as if he were marking his point in the air. But he let his hand drop with no words coming out of his mouth.

Enjolras pulled away, untangled his hands from Grantaire’s hair and instead placed them both around his coffee mug. He took a long sip, not looking at their friends. Grantaire twisted back around so that he was sat in the booth normally but draped his arm over the back of the seat and let his fingers dance over Enjolras’ shoulder. He reached over and stole a slice of toast – now cold, just how he likes it – from the blond’s plate, taking an exaggerated bite when Enjolras mockingly glared at him. Their friends were still quiet, staring.

Enjolras took the rest of the slice from Grantaire’s hand and finished it off, “How much longer do we have to go?”

“About an hour.” Jehan said quietly from the booth behind Courf and Ferre where he had sat up on his knees to watch the exchange. Enjolras looked at his watch.

“Perfect. The Mass at Pio Monte della Misericordia finishes at around ten, we’ll be able to get there on time – just after people have left. Will it be quiet enough for you?” Enjolras asked Grantaire, who was actually quite confused himself now.

“Pio Monte?” He repeated. “As in, _The Seven Works of Mercy_ , Pio Monte?”

Enjolras smiled at him, “Yeah. I got us tickets the same day we booked the trip; did I not mention that? It’s a really famous painting so I thought you’d want to see it.”

“What about the rest of us?” Eponine spoke up, folding her arms across her chest.

“What about you?” Enjolras asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What if we don’t want to see it?”

“Oh, no, you misunderstand,” Enjolras shook his head. Grantaire watched his curls bounce and couldn’t help but plunge his fingers into them, scraping his nails against Enjolras’ scalp slightly. The blond leaned back into his hand as he continued, “There’s only two tickets. For Grantaire and I.”

“For…for Grantaire, and _you_.” Marius said, confusion written across his face.

Enjolras nodded once, “Yes.”

All their friends – bar Combeferre, Musichetta, and Courfeyrac, who might genuinely be experiencing shock – shared a look and then in unison asked, “ _Why?”_

Grantaire snorted, the humour of the situation finally sinking in. He grinned at his friends, “Where else would a political activist take their cynical, tortured-artist boyfriend when in Naples, if not to a church that housed a painting all about showing mercy and grace?”

A few seconds of shocked silence pass until Courfeyrac finally seemed to work through whatever it was that was happening in his brain to shout, “BOYFRIEND?”

“I suspect,” Combeferre placed a hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder, “that we all may have missed something rather important.”

“You didn’t exactly miss it – we kept it from you.” Enjolras said sheepishly, taking another sip of his coffee and pulling a face at it. Grantaire took the mug and shuffled out of the booth, heading over to the breakfast buffet to refill it. When he turned to make his way back, he noticed almost everyone looking at him.

“What?” He mumbled, slipping back into his seat. Musichetta grinned at him as he passed the mug to Enjolras. Grantaire smiled back, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cosette asked, leaning into Marius. She sounded sad but there was a smile on her face that shone in her eyes as well. In fact, all of their friends, despite their shock, seemed genuinely pleased for them.

“I didn’t think it was real at first.” Grantaire said, laughing at himself, “I kept telling myself that any minute I was going to wake up and it was all going to have been a dream.”

“I thought it wasn’t going to last.” Enjolras said matter-of-factly. While everyone else gasped and glanced at Grantaire with sad eyes, expecting him to be hurt, he just laughed. They’d already spoken about this when – “about a month into the relationship I realised that, okay, maybe it was more than just… a way to stop arguing.”

“Didn’t tell me the full extent of it until bloody last night though, did you?” Grantaire asked with a fond smile and shake of his head. “Left me wondering for months if I was in this deeper than you were.”

“Wait, _months_?” Eponine asked incredulously. “Exactly how long has this been going on for?”

“Four months, eight days, and-” Enjolras glanced at his watch, “-thirteen hours.”

The tornado from last night was back, but this time it was warm and fluttering and lifted up out of his stomach to swarm around his heart. He pulled Enjolras in closer as the blond answered more questions their friends were throwing at them.

The train would be pulling into the station soon – about forty minutes – and then they’d be in Naples for a week as official, out-to-their-friends, honest-to-God _boyfriends_. And then they’d be returning to Paris and continuing their lives just as before except this time around, when Grantaire wanted to push the hair out of Enjolras’ eyes during group study sessions, _he could._ And when he wanted to kiss Enjolras when arriving late to an ABC meeting, _he could_. And when he wanted to tell him he loves him and get down on one knee, _he could_ , and then together they would tell their friends and be met with cheers and hugs and drinks and-

Grantaire found himself being brought back to the moment by Enjolras placing a hand delicately on his thigh. He turned his head and buried his face in Enjolras’ hair, kissing his head. The future held a lot of promise, and Grantaire was so looking forward to it, but he wouldn’t mind if he got stuck in this moment forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed :)
> 
> I was serious about wanting prompts btw! Send them here via comments or message me on socials (same username everywhere).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, comments are appreciated <3


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